Drift Away
by Tatsumaki-sama
Summary: England was surprised and amazed that of all things, smoking and cigarettes somehow brought him and Canada closer.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Axis Powers Hetalia or any of its characters.

**Drift Away**

The first thing that came to mind when Colonel Arthur Kirkland saw the boy was that he was too scrawny and he wasn't fit to be in the army.

He knew right from the start that the boy wasn't eighteen like the rest, who were suppose to be eighteen and older to fit the requirements for signing up. But who was he to say? He had been sixteen when he first joined the army and no one batted an eye when it came down to it.

Casting an critical eye on the boy as he jogged laps around the field, panting and sweat pouring down his cheeks, he noted the boy's thin limbs and knobby knees. His golden curls bounced up and down as he ran, his too-large glasses bumping against his nose, almost overshadowing his face.

The boy was as green as grass and just as new. If he was willing to bet, he wouldn't last a few weeks here. And it would be better for him. As much as he knew, the poor kid's mother must be worried out of her mind, probably wondering where her son had gone and when he would be coming back.

" Colonel! It's an honour that you came." A captain jogged over to him. He looked rather young too, a bit too young to be in command. " Come to see the new recruits, sir?"

" Of course. I will be training them after all." His eyes flicked over towards the boy, who had collapsed at the end of the track, trying to catch his breath and trying not look any less exhausted than the other boys. " What about him?" he suddenly asked, jerking his head in a nod in the boy's direction.

" Him?" The captain glanced down at the clipboard. " That's Matthew Williams, sir. Just came in from Toronto, Ontario."

Matthew Williams, huh?

He supposed he would have drill into the boy's thick head that he didn't belong here.

Arthur by no means was soft on any of the men that dared to call themselves soldiers. They were all young and knew nothing of war. It was his job to sift through the ones not suitable for war and leave only the stronger ones. By the end of the first month, more than fifty had packed their bags and went home, unable to keep up. If they couldn't survive this, then they wouldn't survive the war either.

Better to send them home in tears and back to their mothers than shipping them off to the battlefield, where they would be woefully unprepared for the blood, the screams and the nightmares.

Much to his surprise and slight disappointment, Matthew Williams stayed. Especially with the way he particularly went against the boy, doing all that he could to get him out, pushing him twice as hard as anyone else.

But Matthew never spoke a word against him, never complaining or whining about the treatment. He was a silent shadow, who took everything that assaulted him and ploughed on with a steady determination. Half the time when he mercilessly yelled at the boy and had him tossed around like a rag doll and persecuted him like a criminal, Arthur could see the viciously stubborn glint in his eyes.

Matthew wasn't going anywhere.

And there would nothing Arthur could do to make him change his mind.

It was late at night when Arthur was heading out for some fresh air. Most of the recruits were either sleeping or celebrating,  
glorifying their graduation and soon-to-come departure overseas. They were full of life, excitement and vigour, ready to take on any challenges that came their way. And Arthur felt proud of them and a little bit sad at the same time, knowing he most likely won't ever see many of them again.

No sooner did he stepped outside to the field, he saw Matthew, sitting by the tracks, with a cigarette in hand. He was coughing and hacking, blinking back a stream of tears, trying to control his body from rejecting the burning smoke from his lungs.

" A little young to be smoking," Arthur dryly remarked, startling him, making him jump to his feet in alarm.

" S-sir," he stammered like a child.

" I assume this isn't your first time." he commented, glancing at the litter of burnt cigarettes on the ground.

He ducked his head. Whether in embarrassment or shame, Arthur wasn't quite sure. " No, sir," he mumbled.

All of the recruits did it. Even some of the commanding officers did it on their spare time. It was only natural that Matthew would try to fit in with them. " You should try to breath in more deeply," Arthur finally said.

Matthew blinked in confusion. A shadow of a smile flitted across his face. " It will help with the coughing."

" Um, thank you very much. Sir," Matthew hurriedly added, his eyes shining with shy admiration.

With a curt nod, Arthur dismissed the boy. " Well, good night then, son."

It was dark and the lights behind Matthew didn't help much. But he could have sworn that the boy froze and was as still as a stick, as if he had never heard of such a word. Finally, when he spoke, to Arthur's amusement, he was trying to unhinge his tongue from the roof of his mouth. " Good night," he mumbled, giving him a hasty salute.

As he headed back to his room, Arthur could still Matthew's coughing outside, trying to make good use of his advice.

~.~.~

The next time Arthur saw the boy was shortly after the battle of Ypres. His division had one of its first missions there. For a lot of the youngsters there, it was probably the first time they truly understood the horrors of war.

The Germans had used chlorine gas as a method to defeat them. Within ten minutes, more than a thousand soldiers were gasping, choking, dying. Screaming soldiers fled, trying to save their comrades and themselves, leaving a gap wide open for the enemy to attack.

But the Canadians hastily put together a force to fight back and they stood against the Germans with all that they had. There must have been some pride that this relatively young and inexperienced division was able to throw back the dreaded Germans.

And yet, here was Matthew, struggling to lit a cigarette because his hands were trembling too much.

He was a lot thinner than the last time he had seen him, Arthur noted. His skin was a pallid colour, an unhealthy shade for a boy his age. Even from the distance, he could see white bandages around the boy's neck. His uniform clung heavily on nothing but skin and bones it seemed. He looked out of place, sitting among the soldiers, like a child lost, surrounded by nobody but strangers and adults.

Matthew cursed and swore quietly as another match fell from his fingers. Singed marks decorated the tips of his fingers, a memento to other failed attempts.

Finally, Arthur took pity on him and took the match from his unsteady hands, much to Matthew's surprise, who almost immediately jumped to his feet, trying to clumsily salute him.

" Here," he said, almost kindly, as he held out a flickering match.

Gratefully and with a hint of embarrassment, Matthew accepted it. He inhaled deeply and leaned back against a crate, coughing only slightly. Arthur wondered how many boxes of cigarettes the boy had gone through since the last time he had seen him.

" Thank you, sir."

There was silence. Matthew dragging out his cigarette and Arthur helping himself to one. For several minutes, they remained where they were, one sitting, one standing, inhaling and breathing out the smoke, watching as it danced merrily in the air, only to be carried away by a spring breeze.

" Heard what happened at Ypres," Arthur finally said. " You did good. Helped a lot of men back there."

Eyes closed, Matthew blew out the smoke, which curled and wavered like a banner. " Wasn't good enough," he muttered. " So many still died. And I couldn't – I didn't - " He looked at him with glassy, dull eyes. " How do you do it?" he asked in a slightly desperate tone.

He sighed. This wasn't the first time another soldier had asked him the question. And it won't be the last. " You fight with every breath you have," he told Matthew. " Fight for your country. Fight for your friends. Fight for yourself. Then you realize you're still alive to fight for another day and you either get down to it or give up." He paused. " I have no less expectations that _you_ won't be giving up."

Swallowing thickly, the boy hastily rubbed his eyes, muttering about something about dirt.

Arthur pretended not to notice.

~.~.~

He had been finishing writing his reports when he glanced out the window and nearly stood up in annoyance.

If there was anyone else who could ruin his day just by the sight of them, Brigadier Francis Bonnefoy certainly did.

Of course, Arthur did carry a bit of a wary annoyance against the French (he was English, after all), but he did respect them and he knew they could be quite trustworthy when the stakes were laid out. But this particular Frenchman irked him to no ends. They had met a few times before and all those times did not go well for either of them.

And now that slimy bastard was trying to be all sweet with Matthew.

" You said your name was _Matthieu_?" Francis asked, his voice a low purr.

Matthew fidgeted nervously. " It – it's Matthew, sir," he mumbled shyly.

" I see. My apologies." He smiled kindly at the boy, wrapping an arm around his skinny shoulders. " You mentioned earlier that you came from Canada? Did you know that I once travelled to Canada when - ?"

He never got to finish his sentence as Arthur knuckled him hard on the head. " Get your hands off of him," he snarled, ripping Matthew from his grip.

" It's a crime to carry a conversation now?" Francis indignantly asked.

" Only when you come after children," he angrily retorted, almost shoving Matthew behind him protectively.

His eyes flicked from Arthur to Matthew. " He's one of yours?" Francis slowly said, realization dawning on him.

" Then you know to stay away from him," Arthur snapped, grabbing Matthew by the arm and leading him into the mingling crowds of soldiers and away from Francis.

" That man is a dangerous man," he hissed through clenched teeth, as they squeezed through the clusters of soldiers, some who immediately stood to attention and others staring at why he was currently dragging another soldier along with him. " I want you to stay clear away from him. Don't talk to him. Don't even look at him."

" He wasn't doing anything to me," Matthew tried to say. " He just wanted to talk to me."

" That's exactly what I don't want," Arthur muttered under his breath. " If you wanted to make friends, you could have done it with your own division. I trust them more than that wine bastard."

Matthew turned scarlet. " I do have friends," he mumbled to himself.

Which wasn't a complete lie. Most of the soldiers were friendly with Matthew. When they noticed him. Other than that, they would walk right by him without a spare glance. The boy's too quiet and passive for his own good, leaving him almost invisible and nonexistent to the other soldiers.

" We got some beer here!" someone shouted cheerfully. " Gonna drink till the cows come home!"

A group of soldiers was laughing and joking loudly with each other and celebrating their victory at Vimy Ridge, until they saw Matthew with Arthur. They hurriedly stood at salute.

Arthur realized that his hand was still holding Matthew's arm and quickly let go. " You boys celebrating?" he casually asked.

Still struck dumb, they could only nod silently. " Well, I don't let me stop you." Reaching into his pockets, he tossed a box of cigarettes to Matthew, who caught them in surprise. " I'll see you around then," he smiled at Matthew, who despite being taken back smiled gratefully at him.

As he was leaving, Arthur could hear the excited, shocked voices of the other soldiers, crowding around Matthew, asking him dozens of questions.

" That was Brigadier Kirkland you were talking to!"

" And gave you his own box of cigarettes!"

" I didn't know you knew the Brigadier. That must be so cool!"

" By the way, the name's Greg. Wanna join us?"

Arthur couldn't help the small smile from appearing on his face. Still, he quietly berated himself. He shouldn't be showing favouritism among the troops.

~.~.~

As relieved as Arthur was that the United States had joined the war, he was not pleased to see that Alfred Jones was lounging around like he had nothing else better to do.

And dragging Matthew down with him while he was at it.

He knew Alfred Jones. Rebelled against his father. Ran away from home when he was fifteen. Changed his name and anything that tied him back to home. Broke Matthew's heart when he did. And he didn't come home since.

That's when he wondered if Alfred was the reason why Matthew had joined the army. To see his brother, when his father strictly forbid him to. Probably even changed his last name when he registered so his father wouldn't find out. Foolish boy.

It didn't help that Alfred crashed one of his training sessions with Matthew and the other Canadian soldiers.

" Mattie! There you are! I've been looking all over for you!" With blond hair and blue eyes, Alfred was the epitome of the proud American as he swept his brother in a single one-arm hug, smiling sweetly at the jaw-dropped soldiers as if daring them to say a word about it.

" Al? What are you doing here?" Hard as he might try, Matthew couldn't quite conceal the delighted flush in his cheeks. " I thought you weren't coming until next week."

" And not see you for another seven days? Like hell," he grinned widely.

Growling at the impertinence of youngsters, Arthur barked out orders at the gawking soldiers and stormed over to the two brothers, breaking up their happy little reunion. " Ah, Major. Nice to meet you." Alfred's mouth was twisted in a smile. " Matthew has told me **_so_** much about you."

" It's Brigadier," he curtly retorted. He shot a glare at Matthew, who pitifully wilted and mouthed _I was going to tell you later_. " So learn your manners, brat."

" Haven't taught me any."

Matthew quickly stepped between them before they could lunge themselves at each other to tear the other's throat to shreds. He looked tiny between the two larger and bulkier men. " P-please don't fight here," he pleaded.

" Of course, we won't," Alfred immediately declared with good cheer. He ruffled Matthew's hair and he gratefully smiled at him.

Arthur couldn't deny that if nothing else, Alfred loved his brother dearly. And Matthew looked up to his brother with a hero-like worship. It was something that he could never fully comprehend.

And he never would.

" Come on, Mattie. My division got sent a bunch of supplies from America," Alfred grinned. " Including these really good cigars. Which we won't share with the British," he deliberately added with a smirk, shot directly at Arthur.

Before he could snarl a response or before Matthew stutter that he was training right now, Alfred already grabbed Matthew and pulled him away. Matthew only had a second to turn around to glance at him. His expression was a curious one, a mixture of apology and sympathy, one that Arthur disliked seeing.

He could only bitterly watch as Matthew and Alfred went on their way.

~.~.~

The war was over.

Most of the officers and soldiers had already left, but Arthur stayed behind to finish up the last of the paperwork. His left eye wasn't as good as it used to be and he had some difficulty trying to read the sentences on his left side. Finally finishing, he gathered them and shuffled them off into an envelope. With a sigh, he looked around his desk and room, reminiscing and wondering how long these four years had lasted.

" Sir?"

He stiffly turned, grumbling about the use of a cane in his hand. He had been careless near the end and a bullet had got his leg. It didn't help that the rest of his muscles and joints had turned hard and taunt as a wooden board. But the sight of a familiar figure made the pain worth it.

Standing before him was the now 2nd Lieutenant Matthew Williams, with silver medals pinned to his uniform. The boy was no longer a boy but a young man. His face had sharpen evenly and his eyes carried a hardened gaze that suggested he had seen much at his age.

" Thought you had left already," Arthur commented. " Went home with ... your brother," he begrudgingly added.

" I'm not in a rush to go anywhere," was all he had to offer as an answer.

That's when he noticed that Matthew no longer smelled of burnt smoke. Even if a soldier who smoked scrubbed himself clean and changed clothes, a faint linger of cigarettes would still remain. " You quit?" he asked.

It took Matthew a minute before he understood what he was trying to say. " I promised myself if I got through this alive, I would stop," he shrugged.

Arthur grunted. " That's good. It can become a bad habit." He shuffled over to the window, grinning. " Still do it though time and time again."

Matthew smiled. He thought it was the first time in a long time that he had seen him smile like that. And it heartened him.

He gazed out the window, watching the remainders of the coffins leave and a few scattered soldiers exchanging farewells with one another. " You did better than I expected," he finally said. He still refused to look at the young man behind him. " In fact, you exceeded my expectations. Which was what I expected of you. I always knew you would be destined for greatness."

" Thank you, sir." Arthur didn't dare look into that face, most likely swimming with glassy tears and a rewarded smile.

" You're like your brother more than you know. More than your own uncertainty and self-doubt about yourself." There was a sharp intake of breath. He continued, ignoring it.

" You think you're not good enough. That you could never catch up to what Alfred was. But that isn't true. You reached him. You might even succeed him. But I suppose that's not what you wanted to hear, hm?" He chuckled to himself. " Most of all, you wanted me to say that I was proud of you. Like I was of Alfred. Am I right?"

" Yes."

The answer came without hesitation and a craving desire that the whole room could drown in it. He pictured Matthew standing there, fists clenched to his side, shaking as his nails dug into soft flesh.

" I won't say that, though," he lightly said, hearing Matthew's stunned gasp. " I don't want to say I was proud of you like I was with Alfred. Because - " He was smiling now and he felt something prick at the corners of his eyes. " - because I am proud of you for being you. Not being Alfred's shadow. Not being my shadow. But being yourself and proving that you can stand on your own two feet and walk without us eclipsing you. So, what I'm trying to say, son, is that I'm proud of you. So damn much."

The sun must be blinding him because his vision was getting slightly hazy and clouded. He coughed, pretending to scratch his nose.

He didn't even realize that Matthew was standing beside him. His hand came up and gripped his shoulder. The grip, once weak and faint, was now strong and warm. It felt oddly comforting.

" Let's go home, Dad," he said with a mixture of melancholy and pure happiness.

Turning around, Arthur smiled and nodded. " That sounds good to me, Matthew."


End file.
